Of Ugly Sweaters and Vegetable Stew
by Paperclip-Assassin
Summary: In which Sam's patience is unrivalled, Castiel is confused and Dean finally grows a pair. - Destiel one-shot.


_I wrote this as an immediate response to the Hanstiel kiss in the promo. My feels throb with pain and I needed an outlet, hence this piece of random fluff. I do hope it ain't terrible._

_Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural Cas would be kissing someone else on Tuesday._

* * *

><p><strong>Of Ugly Sweaters and Vegetable Stew<strong>

Outside the chilly November winds were shaking at the treetops with merciless persistence, ripping off the few leaves still sticking to the mostly naked twigs and branches and giving a first impression of the harsh winter that was in store for the country. Barely anyone who had another choice voluntarily set a foot outside and the entire state of Kansas lay in serene silence as the first snowflakes began their dancing decent to earth, hinting at the snowfall that was to come.

Inside the bunker nothing of that mattered of course, neither cold nor snow affecting the inhabitants within the safety of their fort. Especially Castiel was grateful for the fact that they had decided to not look out for hunts for a little while, at least as long as the weather stayed in this inconvenient state of unpredictable instability where you never knew if you were going to get caught in a blizzard, hail or thunderstorm. As an angel, Castiel had never necessarily cared for such things, had mostly not even acknowledged them, since he had habitually had the power to alter the state of the weather as he pleased. But Castiel had been human for quite a while now, all such abilities long gone together with his grace and wings. The mere thought still made him wince and sent a shudder down his spine but at least he was past the initial state of depression that had come with his fall. He had learned to enjoy a lot of things that came with humanity, the foremost being food. While burgers were still his favourite meal, he'd also discovered that he was rather fond of sweets, although not to the extent of Gabriel's addiction, and his appreciation for pies rivalled at times even Dean's.

To Castiel's great pleasure the hunter could not only devour mountains of food but make them as well and since a large percentage of what Dean prepared was incompatible with Sam's ideal idea of nourishment most of the meals were shared between the hunter and Castiel. Sometimes the fallen angel would stroll around the kitchen area under the pretence of looking for a book he had misplaced just around a time that Dean would choose for making lunch or dinner so he could nonchalantly offer a hand. If the hunter noticed a pattern he didn't comment on it, or hadn't so far, and every time Castiel was allowed to do something else. By now he was already capable of preparing various types of pasta, hot salsa sauce, chocolate chip cookies and- his personal favourite- _pancakes_ all by himself and Dean as well as Sam claimed that the blueberry pancakes he made for breakfast beat both of theirs. Castiel couldn't tell whether they said it simply for his motivation or out of honesty but whichever way it was he couldn't help the tiny smile of pure pride whenever he was complimented.

Another thing he enjoyed was the pleasure of winter clothes. While the Winchesters simply added another layer of jackets and maybe wore two pairs of socks on a particularly cold day, Castiel loved to wear sweater vests, hoodies or even madly patterned jumpers that Dean despised so much he solely refused to take Castiel anywhere if he wore them, although the former angel had the suspicion that Dean just envied the exceptionally fluffy texture his flannel shirts lacked. Why Castiel liked the "flamboyant" colour scheme so much was a mystery to him as much as to Dean, although he decided it had something to do with the fact that he had never really gotten to choose what to wear since it had been his vessel's choice at first. Picking out different outfits had seemed dull as an angel, after all it had taken less than the blink of an eye to free himself of dirt or patch a hole in his trench coat and so he had never even considered the possibility of a broader range in wardrobe selections. Now, however, he was rather fond of the little collection of clothing that belonged to no one but himself- although he might have stolen one or two of Dean's band t-shirts when it was his turn to do the laundry but the hunter hadn't said anything yet.

Other things he couldn't help but enjoy as he was living with Dean Winchester was the hunter's taste in music and his TV preferences. Since becoming human, Castiel had already watched the entire series of _Firefly_ twice and taken such a liking to Nathan Fillion that he had started to occasionally watch _Castle_ in secret. He always deleted the internet history on Dean's laptop and looked up some random sexual content afterwards to keep his cover in place because the hunter had sternly warned him about "procedural cop shows" and their bad qualities and Castiel didn't want Dean to be displeased with his taste in television programmes, seeing as he had already provoked him enough with his colourful attire. Aside from that he had discovered that he shared a lot of the hunter's likes, mostly when it came to music. While Castiel had watched Mozart and other classical composers in their respective times in awe, he had never really seen the beauty in modern earthly music, which compared to the Enochian hymns that sounded in Heaven like a drop to an ocean. But Dean listened to the rock music that had so loyally accompanied him throughout his life with such fervour that Castiel was absolutely powerless against its magic as well- a lot of times much to Sam's displeasure.

But not everything Castiel did was influenced by Dean. While the older Winchester still tended to avoid paying the bunker's ancient library a visit, Castiel could spend countless hours in comfortable silence with Sam, flipping through books, correcting mistranslations and analysing the filing system. The two of them got along exceptionally well and the younger hunter had taught Castiel a great deal about communication, technology and human behaviour in general, patiently answering even questions that Dean would probably have found annoying, embarrassing or self-explanatory.  
>Still, no matter how much better his understanding of subtle facial expressions- or not so subtle ones, "exhibit A" being Sam's trademark "bitch faces"- came along or how much his comfort with being human grew thanks to the younger Winchester, if he had to decide between the two he still preferred to spend his time with Dean. Old habits die hard, as they say.<p>

Unbeknownst to the ex-angel the softly swirling snowflakes outside had grown in number and developed into an all-consuming white wall of wet flakes that obscured the country and erased even the last remnants of autumn that had so persistently lingered. Castiel only became aware of the weather outside when he heard a heavy door fall shut and the echo resounded from the opposite direction of the main entrance, signalling someone had entered the bunker via the garage a level below. He kept on reading his book until the end of the paragraph, in no hurry to finish the page, and then lifted his head slowly. Since Sam could be heard rummaging through the kitchen shelves there was hardly any option of who was about to round the corner.

Sure enough Dean stepped into view not seven seconds later but surprised Castiel nonetheless with his appearance. The hunter's hair stuck to his forehead, completely soaked through. His clothing was in a similar state and the man's annoyed expression indicated that he wasn't too delighted about it. With a noisy exhale Dean crossed the room with three easy strides, tossing the keys to the Impala onto the table next to Castiel's book before he disappeared again in the bunker kitchen's direction. Secretly the former angel almost glowed with smugness over the fact that the hunter would trust him with one of the most precious items he possessed, leaving it so easily in his protection without a second's debate.

With weak human ears Castiel listened for the conversation a few rooms away, concentrating hard in order to understand. The voices weren't hushed so he decided he wasn't eavesdropping, not really. He was just curious about Dean's state of dishevelment. The explanation was simple and Castiel almost smacked himself on the forehead as he heard the muffled exchange between the brothers. Apparently it was snowing heavily- country-wide too, if one were to believe Sam's almighty _(did that count as blasphemy?)_ weather app- and Dean had in wise precaution brought his "Baby" into the safety of the garage. She deserved it, after all she was family as well. Castiel agreed.

Having heard enough for now the former angel returned his attention to his book, absentmindedly reaching for the keys Dean had tossed at him and tracing his fingers over them as he read on. He was very happy with how things were, especially with how the brothers got along. There had been a lot of damage to their relationship, with both parties at fault, but they were slowly learning to trust again and watching the progress they made warmed Castiel's heart. Another thing that brought him joy was the prospect of maybe getting another chance at becoming a hunter. Admittedly he had not particularly excelled at the job on previous occasions but maybe Dean would teach him a thing or two after the winter, and with time and practise the former angel was optimistic to re-earn his place on the team.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts and Castiel realized he had turned page after page without remembering a single word of the information he had intended to read. He looked up and met Dean's eyes with a cautious smile, not sure about the hunter's mood. The friendly wrinkles around Dean's eyes hinted at a smile as well, so Castiel had nothing to worry about. He noticed the yellow cup in Dean's hand and graciously accepted it, analysing its steaming content with a quick sniff. Praised be his Father for the creation of the coffee plant, he thought to himself as the rich aroma reached his nostrils. The feeling of pure appreciation for the hot beverage and its origins was followed by a pleasurable flutter in his chest that he solely associated with such domestic and caring actions from Dean. Although Castiel was by now capable of taking care of himself perfectly well and sometimes stayed in the bunker on his own for however long a hunting session required the Winchesters' expertise it still brought this inexplicably warm feeling to his heart whenever Dean just remembered him.

Without a word the hunter pulled out the chair next to Castiel's and took a seat. The former angel only then realized that a blue cup complimentary to his own already rested on the wooden table. Dean shot a mildly curious glance at the book before pulling a face at the Arabic letters and reaching for his car keys. Castiel wasn't quick enough to pull his hand out of the way and their fingers brushed briefly, the touch bringing a small jolt of electricity with it that made Castiel almost jump in his seat. Dean didn't seem to notice and merely pocketed the keys with such care as if he were handling precious diamonds. They drank their coffee in unusual silence- _unusual_ because quietness wasn't something Dean was especially known for, as anyone who had ever met the hunter could most likely vouch for. As always when Castiel found himself in this proximity to Dean he found it decidedly hard to focus on simple tasks like breathing or forming coherent thoughts, never mind _reading_, so he closed his book in favour of remembering the basic mechanics of lifting a cup to his lips, swallowing a mouthful of liquid, and putting the cup back on the table. Dean showed no similar signs of spontaneous difficulties so Castiel dismissed it as just another aspect of humanity that he wasn't entirely used to and couldn't yet explain.

The coffee was slightly too hot for Castiel's taste and he shied away from the cup ever so slightly after each sip out of discomfort but at least the pain that numbed his tongue was of a more logical nature than the buzzing reaching all the way into his fingertips whenever Dean took a gulp from his own coffee and the former angel watched as the hunter's Adam's apple bobbed or he subconsciously licked his lips- that fell into the same confusing category as his sudden inability to evenly inhale.

Castiel tilted his head slightly to the side as he watched the hunter next to him staring into empty space. Dean was very nice to look at with his cheeks still slightly coloured from the short time he'd spent in the snow storm outside and Castiel relished the small change. The hunter wasn't someone to blush, or at least Castiel had so far never had the privilege to witness it, and seeing the slightly pink colouring on his face had a very pleasant effect on Castiel. He liked the image. He wanted to see _more_ of it. By now Castiel realized that he'd been staring too long for it not to be uncomfortable and he guessed he had only a few moments before Dean would tell him off, saying how "creepy" he behaved.

Ultimately, it was Castiel's stomach instead of Dean that broke the silence.

The fallen angel dropped his eyes to his traitorous abdomen and felt the familiar heat of embarrassment sneak up his neck. Rationally he knew that his body's growling demand for food wasn't something to be uncomfortable about but somehow it felt like a moment between them had been lost when Dean snorted with laughter. Ignoring his discomfort, Castiel joined in with a breathy chuckle before emptying his cup of coffee. Dean had long finished his own drink and pulled himself out of his chair at the same time Castiel did. The former angel tried not to show his excitement at the simple fact that the hunter was evidently not planning to let him eat on his own.

In the kitchen they fell into a familiar routine of gathering utensils and ingredients- until Dean announced that Castiel should be the one to put his only recently acquired cutting skills to good use. Castiel froze, staring at the surprisingly large amount of vegetables spread out on the main counter. He wasn't stupid, he knew the theory of how to effectively and quickly chop up different things, but he was at times rather clumsy. Dean had at the very beginning of his cooking career told Castiel that the large cutting knife wasn't all-too different from his angel blade. Castiel had eyed the stainless steel with suspicion and declared that he saw nothing divine about it, which had made Dean laugh. Now he understood _why_ and felt bad for his naivety. Dean, sensing his friend's doubts, rolled his eyes good-naturedly and murmured that he would show him the correct way of chopping things once more. Immediately, Castiel held out the knife to the hunter, who merely shook his head and grabbed Castiel's shoulders in order to spin him around. Once he was facing the counter, Dean stood very close behind and reached around both Castiel's sides until one hand rested on the work surface beside Castiel's and the other covered his fingers on the knife handle.

For a moment the fallen angel was tempted to lean back into the hunter's warmth but thought better of it, well aware of the intimate nature of such an action. Instead he listened for the familiar instructions, concentrating on the low rumble of Dean's voice so close to his ear. He could feel the hunter's breath tickle the side of his face with every word and only realised the mad heartbeat in his chest as it echoed in his head and the noise drowned out the meaning of Dean's words. His attention-span got worse when the hunter began to guide the movement of his right hand on the knife, cutting through the first of many carrots for what some still functioning part of Castiel's brain guessed was supposed to become a vegetable stew. With Dean's help the action seemed smooth and practised and although he didn't contribute much he still recognized the glow in Dean's voice as praise.

The longer they stood there, the more Castiel lost himself in the sensation of being this close to Dean. In the past there had been maybe a handful of occasions that they had shared this sort of intimacy, most of them laying not too far behind. It was in moments like these that Castiel liked to pretend that Dean, too, felt the tingling in his fingers, that Dean, too, forgot how to do even the simplest things.

That Dean, too, wished the moment wouldn't end.

It was almost pathetic, the way he worshipped Dean's body-heat. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he had been the one to heal the marred flesh after Hell, maybe he had been cold and just hadn't realized it. Dean had stepped even closer every time he had reached for another piece for them to chop to even smaller pieces but it had occurred so gradually that it hadn't caught Castiel's attention straight away. The realisation came sudden as a lightning-strike. His back was pressed flush to Dean's front and the hunter didn't say anything against it. It was confusing. Dean wasn't someone to search for this sort of physical interaction with anyone, except for-

_Oh_.

Castiel remembered a time when he'd still been in full possession of his "Mojo" and reluctantly worked with Crowley on the ultimate betrayal to the Winchesters. Back then he had managed to stay away for quite a while but in a few moments of weakness he couldn't help but check on Dean and his new life, or rather the pretence of such. Often he would fly in and stay well-hidden, observing the scene of domesticity that was Dean cooking together with Lisa Braeden. While Lisa would never remember those times, they evidently still stuck with Dean and Castiel was suddenly not certain if the hunter was lost on "Memory Lane" and therefore clinging to him like he was or if, and that was a decidedly massive "if", he hoarded similar feelings for Castiel as he had for Lisa.

Half of Castiel's heart rejoiced at the possibility while the other half dropped, heavy with doubt. He understood a lot more of humanity than most angels before him ever had but still the world of emotions held so many aspects, so much complexity, that he could never be positive of interpreting things correctly. With Dean it was even more of a challenge since he seldom showed his true state of mind- although currently it really felt like one of those rare times.

Right now, the former angel saw two options on how to proceed. The easier one would be to shrug off the feeling and pretend the moment of realisation never happened, which would be a decision in true Winchester fashion. The second option required an immense amount of courage and could end with a rejection that he wasn't sure he could live with. Especially the fear of the latter gnawed at Castiel because it told him that maybe he wasn't so clueless when it came to interpreting his reactions to Dean after all. Maybe he was just too stubborn to uncover the whole truth.

A lot of things happened at the same time then, effectively ending any ongoing thought-process whatsoever.

First of all, Dean's fingers disappeared from the knife handle, causing Castiel to drop the item as well. Next the hunter, instead of stepping away as Castiel would expect him to, dropped his forehead on the former angel's shoulder before turning his head so his nose brushed the bare skin of Castiel's neck. Gooseflesh erupted on his entire body and he felt his eyes flutter shut at Dean's deep inhale and before he could help it he slumped back, at once melting into Dean's embrace. And it was an embrace because the hunter's arms moved from the kitchen counter to Castiel's waist, encircling his body from behind. A protective part of his conscience presented the ridiculous notion that Dean had probably inhaled a love pollen or that Castiel had fallen asleep while reading and was dreaming all of this (which wouldn't be the first time, if he was completely honest with himself. Which he wasn't).

It was clear that he wasn't dreaming and that Dean was uninfluenced by any magic, he decided as he timidly moved a hand up to trace his index finger over the back of Dean's hand, cherishing the small hitch in the hunter's breath and the uneven heartbeat against his back that was so familiar to him, only now that it came from Dean it meant something else entirely.

Instead of confusion there was insight.

All along Castiel had on some level known how to read what his body had not so subtly laid out before him, all the signs, all the strange malfunctions and short-circuits had not been as big a mystery as he had fiercely willed them to be. Of course he knew why he enjoyed so many of the things Dean enjoyed, why he wanted to impress him and why he felt so differently about spending time with Sam.

Doubt was replaced with conviction.

All along he had been stupid to pretend like he was alone with these things, these _feelings_, because _of course_ he had noticed that Dean was looking at him with the warmth in his eyes he kept hidden from most people, that he gave no one the keys to his car except him or Sam because he trusted no one so blindly.

Ever so slowly Castiel turned around, the movement being somewhat awkward since Dean refused to loosen his harms around him, and looked up into the hunter's eyes to make sure he was seeing things right this time. Dean's answering gaze was more meaningful than a million words could have been at that moment and even while the question on Dean's sudden motive to seize the initiative remained, Castiel could, quite frankly, not care less about it. The moment seemed true, if sudden, and he was glad to experience it just the way he was.

Castiel, the angel, had been made to love his Father's creations.

Dean didn't need him to be an Angel of the Lord, he didn't think of him as Fallen- to him Castiel was just Cas. Another man. A _special_ man.  
>Dean didn't need to kill evil for Castiel to see him as good, he didn't need to carry the weight of the world to appear strong. Castiel valued him regardless of anything.<p>

Castiel, the human, was in love with Dean Winchester.


End file.
